It had been hours since the final whistle blew. The city was slowly slipping into its usual night-time hush—streetlights flickering, dogs barking in the distance, and windows glowing faintly behind curtains. But James, Henrry's father, wasn't resting.
He stood at the edge of a quiet blue house on the far side of town. The porch light buzzed above him as he knocked on the wooden door, his face tight with worry.
The door creaked open.
"Mclery," James said, his voice tight. "Has Henrry come here?"
Mclery blinked, surprised. "No… he hasn't."
James stepped forward anxiously. "Have you checked around? Asked your neighbors?"
"I thought maybe he came to you," Mclery replied. "Uncle, what happened?"
James sighed deeply, rubbing the back of his neck. "Henrry always comes home by 7:30. It's 10 now. He's never this late."
Mclery's eyes narrowed in thought. "Don't worry, Uncle. Henrry will come back. I'll help you look for him. I think I might have an idea."
"You do?" James asked, hope flickering in his eyes.
Mclery hesitated. "I'm not completely sure… but if none of our friends have seen him, then he's probably at the only place he always went to when he was upset."
James raised a brow. "And where's that?"
Mclery glanced at the night sky, then back at James. "The Mchen Tree."
It was a special place—just outside the city limits. A tall, ancient tree standing alone on a hill, surrounded by silence. They had discovered it together as kids, chasing after butterflies . 'Mc' from Mclery, and 'Hen' from Henrry—that's how it got its name. The Mchen Tree.
James placed a hand on Mclery's shoulder. "Thank you, son."
Mclery nodded. "Uncle you should try calling some of your old friends nearby."
James agreed
The first light of dawn crept slowly into the sky. A soft breeze rustled the leaves as Henrry stirred beneath the Mchen Tree. His eyes fluttered open.
The sky above was a pale orange. Birds chirped in the distance. The cold grass beneath him was damp with dew.
For a moment, Henrry felt like he was waking from a dream.
But then he saw it.
The stick.
It still lay beside him, its glow now faint but steady, as if it had dimmed only to rest. Henrry reached for it gently. It was warm. Alive. The sensation was strange, almost comforting.
Without thinking, he tucked it beneath his shirt, holding it against his chest. Whatever it was, he knew he couldn't leave it behind.
At home, James was pacing in the living room when the front door finally creaked open.
Henrry stepped in, mud on his shoes and eyes heavy from lack of sleep.
"Where have you been all night?" James asked, his tone firm but not angry.
"I… I fell asleep under the Mchen Tree," Henrry said quietly.
James closed his eyes for a moment, then walked over and placed a hand on his son's shoulder.
"Listen, I know yesterday didn't go the way you wanted. But one bad match doesn't define you. You gave it your best, and that's more important than anything else."
Henrry looked up, surprised. Somehow, James knew. Mclery must've told him what happened.
"You'll be okay," James added. "Now go get freshened up. You've still got school today."
Henrry nodded, gave a tired half-smile, and headed upstairs. He opened his cupboard and carefully placed the stick underneath a stack of clothes. It was better to keep it hidden—for now.
School, however, felt like a blur.
The chaos of crowded hallways, the sound of lockers slamming shut, students laughing loudly—it all felt out of place. Nothing could compare to the silence of the Mechen Tree… or the strange, glowing stick that still occupied his thoughts.
Mclery caught up to him near their lockers between periods.
"There you are!" he whispered. "Where were you last night? Your dad was *seriously* worried."
Henrry glanced around and leaned in. "I'll explain everything. Come to my house after school. There's something you need to see."
Mclery tilted his head, suspicious. "What *something*?"
"Relax, it's nothing shady," Henrry smirked faintly. "You and your detective brain. I just… I found something. Or maybe it found me. You won't believe it."